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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315918">Roots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfire125/pseuds/shadowfire125'>shadowfire125</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Count Duckula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, hints of gooseula bc im gay, igor will appreciate his son or perish by my blade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:46:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,974</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowfire125/pseuds/shadowfire125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the castle feels more like prison than home, and no one in his social circle actually listens to him, each in their own ways. But it’s not so bad, really. Things could be worse. </p>
<p>He’s just about resigned himself to the fact nothing will ever change, when he gets the brilliant idea to rewrite history.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Count Duckula &amp; Igor (Count Duckula)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this fic has been finished for months but i was stuck on just one small part of it. finally i just decided it didn't actually need that part and here we are.</p>
<p>(i made the current duckula the seventh instead of the seventeenth bc the math just doesn't add up on that. there's no way there have been that many duckulas.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He's born in a split-second that feels like an eternity—dust set alight and taking form, particles bound by lightning, bone and sinew knit with dark magic. He presses his brand-new hands against the walls closing him in, gasps his first breath. There's awful knowledge carved into his soul: who he's meant to be, what he's meant to do, the legacy he's meant to uphold. His gut twists and he dry-heaves, acidic revulsion coiling up his esophagus.</p>
<p>The panel in front of him swings open, and he stumbles forward, knees buckling under him. Aged but iron hands grip him, steadying him. "Careful, milord," says a deep, monotone voice.</p>
<p>Duckula (he knows that's his name, just as he knows he's the seventh who's had it) looks at the old vulture holding him upright. "Igor," he rasps, the austere face at once familiar and unfamiliar.</p>
<p>Something akin to relief smooths some of the wrinkles in Igor's expression. "So milord does remember me. I had feared, with the ritual gone awry- Ah, never mind. I'm sure milord is hungry."</p>
<p>Almost on cue, Duckula's stomach grumbles, and the corners of Igor's beak turn up in a mirthless smile. "Excellent," Igor says. "I've taken the liberty of bringing you a meal." He gestures across the stone, dimly-lit chamber to where a young woman is shackled to the wall. There's a gag over her beak, and her tears shine in the candlelight.</p>
<p>Nausea crashes over Duckula once more. He doesn't have any of his predecessor's memories, but he can still hear their wordless voices, and he knows what he's supposed to do next. His joints lock and his head spins, and he turns to Igor (<em>trusted butler</em>). "N-no," he manages.</p>
<p>Igor arches an eyebrow. "No, sir?"</p>
<p><em>Igor understands. Igor helps</em>. "Not this," Duckula says. There are so many thoughts he wants to convey with those two words—<em>she's not food, it's not right, something's off</em>—but he can't untangle them.</p>
<p>Comprehension dawns on Igor's face, and Duckula feels hope. Then Igor says, "Ah, I see, your tastes have changed. Not to worry, milord. I'll fetch someone more suitable from the village."</p>
<p>"No!" Duckula blurts out, grasping after Igor as the butler begins to move away. He's ungainly, still getting the hang of his limbs and extremities, but it's enough to stop Igor.</p>
<p>"No, sir?" Igor asks again, something new and chilling his tone.</p>
<p>Panic grips Duckula's chest. <em>Why doesn't Igor understand? Why isn't Igor helping?</em> He twists his fingers in his hair. Everything is too much, every tiny sound echoes around the chamber and clangs in his head, he's still buzzing with the leftover energy from the ritual-</p>
<p>The ritual. "Igor," Duckula croaks. His tongue feels foreign in his beak. "What went wrong?"</p>
<p>Igor shifts uncomfortably. "There was, ah, a <em>slight</em> mix-up with the ingredients, milord. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure." He mostly seems to be trying to convince himself, as he eyes his employer.</p>
<p>Duckula takes a couple of breaths, trying to clear his head, but it's no use. He looks at the woman, in desperate search of something to anchor himself to in the turbulent seas of his own uncertainty. She looks back at him, terror writ large in her eyes and fresh tears streaming down her face.</p>
<p>He finds his first certainty.</p>
<p>"Let her go, Igor," he says, the first words he's spoken without a hint of tremor.</p>
<p>"But, sir!" Igor says, aghast. "Surely you jest!"</p>
<p>Duckula keeps his spine straight. If he wavers, Igor won't listen, and he's found his next certainty: Igor doesn't understand, and Igor won't help. Not unless Duckula <em>makes him</em>. "Igor," he says, eyes narrowed. "Let. Her go."</p>
<p>The silence that follows is thick enough to slice with a knife. There are only a few feet between them, but it feels like miles. Just when it seems like he's not going to, Igor gives a stiff half-bow. "As you wish, milord."</p>
<p>Duckula watches, making sure his expression stays stern, as Igor begrudgingly unchains the woman and leads her away. It's not until Igor has left the room that Duckula finally sags.</p>
<p>A large hand comes down on his shoulder from behind, nearly knocking him to the floor, and his heart leaps into his throat. "Oh, Master Duckuler!" says a voice that he's never heard before, and yet it's strangely comforting. "Thank goodness you let that poor girl go. She looked as if her 'eart was about to give out!"</p>
<p>Duckula looks up and realizes that he knows this brick house of a hen, in the same distant way he knows everything else. "Nanny," he sighs, leaning into her. "I didn't see you there."</p>
<p>"Well, I didn't want to get in the way," Nanny replies. "Mister Igor was already cross with me for givin' him the ketchup instead of the blood, and I didn't want to make him any crosser, did I?"</p>
<p>"No," Duckula murmurs. "I think I've gone and done that for you."</p>
<p>"Don't you worry, Master Duckuler," Nanny says, giving his shoulder a kindly squeeze that grinds his bones together. "Mister Igor never can stay mad at you for long."</p>
<p>"I doubt he's ever had a reason to before. Now, though…" He buries his face in her apron. It makes him feel like a child, but he <em>was</em> just born barely ten minutes ago. He can be forgiven this, at least. "I don't want to be a vampire, Nanny."</p>
<p>"Ooh, that's all right, dear," Nanny says, wrapping her arm around him. "If you don't want to eats people or none of that, that's up to you. You can be wotever you wants to be."</p>
<p>Duckula sniffs, and surreptitiously wipes his eyes on the edge of her apron. "Thanks, Nanny," he says. "I… I <em>am</em> hungry, though."</p>
<p>Nanny smiles down at him. "Let's see wot we can find in the pantry, then, shall we?"</p>
<p>The pulsing in his head is finally fading, and he smiles back at her. "That sounds lovely, Nanny," he says.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The first thing he does is clean out a third of the pantry's vegetable stock. The second thing he does is start exploring the castle. He gets odd flashes of familiarity as he moves from room to room, but as the residual magic from the ritual fades, so does his sense of connection to his past incarnations.</p>
<p>The castle is massive and baffling, and Duckula swears the layout changes at random. He can spend days wandering the endless corridors, and he begins to treat the venture like an expedition by filling a satchel with snacks. Sometimes he gets lost, but by the time he runs out of food he somehow always finds himself back at the kitchen. (Infuriatingly, there's nowhere in the castle he can't hear the bats in the clock when they tell their horrible jokes.)</p>
<p>He sets goals for each expedition: find the lowest dungeon, reach the tallest tower, discover the best balcony to watch the sunrise from. It's a good way to pass the time, and he has nothing but time. (If he thinks about this for too long, he wants to scream, so he tries not to think about it at all.) He stumbles across various musical instruments, and on days he doesn't feel like walking, he tries teaching himself to play them; he locates the library, and loses entire afternoons while reading.</p>
<p>Igor seems to be able to find Duckula whenever and wherever, no matter how complicated a path he takes or how deep into the castle he's wandered. Often Igor appears under the guise of concern, but Duckula quickly learns not to trust any food Igor gives him.</p>
<p>Duckula finds his butler uniquely frustrating. Not one conversation between them can go by without it veering towards vampirism, the practice of, like a galleon blown off-course into an unforgiving reef. And yet, Duckula doesn't hate talking to him; he's interesting, in his own way. He carries himself with an air of composure that Duckula could never hope to achieve, and he has a dry sense of humor that's endearing on the occasions it's not overtly ghoulish. The fact that Igor's company isn't unbearable, however, only makes his disappointment in Duckula sting more.</p>
<p>Igor might refer to the past incarnations as Duckula's father and grandfather and so on, but it's no predecessor who is watching Duckula with his beak drawn into a thin, disapproving line. Duckula wishes it didn't hurt, wishes he didn't <em>want</em> that approval as badly as he did, wishes there were any other way to get it.</p>
<p>After a few months, worn down by insistences of "just a drop, sir" and "perhaps a nibble, sir," Duckula buckles. He doesn't give in completely, but when Igor suggests stalking the ramparts, Duckula figures that sounds harmless enough. He might even be good at it, and then maybe Igor will ease up on him a little.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, he's <em>not</em> good at it, and both of them walk away from the attempt dissatisfied.</p>
<p>One week later, there's a vampire hunter on his doorstep.</p>
<p>Doctor Otto von Goosewing is a lot of things—he's resilient, he's determined, and he's powered by a leaping, manic energy that seems to come from a volatile cocktail of caffeine and obsession.</p>
<p>Mainly, he's a pest. He always has some new vampire-destroying invention, the ultimate fate of which is to fail spectacularly. Even when he defaults to the relative reliability of his stake-shooting rifle, his aim is atrocious. The same fervor that drives him back to Castle Duckula again and again also makes him jumpy and scatterbrained, and he can never seem to steady his hands well enough.</p>
<p>He refuses to believe that Duckula doesn't mean any harm, and eventually Duckula gives up on trying to explain. Goosewing is only ever <em>accidentally</em> a real threat to anyone's safety (including his own), and the attempts on Duckula's unlife at least break up the monotony of castle existence.</p>
<p>As weeks turn to months to years, Goosewing kind of grows on Duckula. Maybe he's just getting used to Goosewing being around, but his exasperation with the doctor's antics becomes tinged with just a bit of fondness. It would be <em>nice</em> if Goosewing wasn't constantly trying to kill him, but Duckula understands why it would be hard for a hunter to believe in the existence of a vegetarian vampire. He can forgive Goosewing his stubbornness.</p>
<p>And so, this is how he lives: he does his best to limit Igor's body count, he dodges Goosewing's stakes, he ducks out of Nanny's all-encompassing hugs when they become too much, he takes the castle on far-flung if short-lived adventures. It's long stretches of boredom punctuated by bursts of activity, and he's not happy, but he's not <em>un</em>happy. Sure, sometimes the castle feels more like prison than home, and no one in his social circle actually listens to him, each in their own ways. But it's not so bad, really. Things could be worse.</p>
<p>He's just about resigned himself to the fact nothing will ever change, when he gets the brilliant idea to rewrite history.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Don't forget to put the cat out!" chirps the bat in the cage, and Duckula's veins turn to ice. He watches in horror as the cheery paintings revert to their dismal selves. There'd been one of him as a child, <em>he could've had a childhood</em>, but it's all gone now. Slipped through his fingers, like he'd been grasping at nothing but fog.</p>
<p>"There, you see?" Igor says, smugly satisfied. "No point in trying to change the past, milord."</p>
<p>There's anger in him somewhere, but he hasn't accessed it yet. "Leave me alone," Duckula says numbly. The cage falls from his hand, clattering upright on the floor, and the bat chatters in alarm. Later, he'll feel bad about being so careless with the cage, when he starts properly feeling things again.</p>
<p>"Come now, milord." The satisfaction in Igor's voice turns to mild irritation. "Your father would never act so-"</p>
<p>"My father?" Duckula turns to face Igor, eyes wide and wild. "My father this, my father that." And, yes, <em>there's</em> the anger. "<em>You're</em> my father, Igor!" he screams. "You <em>made</em> me! You made me into a monster hundreds of years ago, and you made me into whatever I am now!" Years of frustration, of hurt, of <em>not being listened to</em> power him as he advances on his butler. "I am sick and tired of trying to take responsibility for all the awful things you do!" He clutches the front of his shirt with one hand and jabs Igor in the chest with the other. "Don't you think it's high time <em>you</em> took responsibility for <em>me</em>?"</p>
<p>Igor opens his beak as if to speak, but no words come out. His expression is unreadable. Behind him, Nanny has a hand to her cheek, her brow creased with worry.</p>
<p>Duckula staggers back a step. He's spinning through a roulette wheel of emotions now, with no idea where he'll land next. "I need- I need air," he says, turning away. "Don't follow me." He sprints out of the hall of portraits, slamming the door behind himself.</p>
<p>As soon as he's gone, Nanny smacks the back of Igor's head.</p>
<p>Duckula makes his way up to his favorite balcony and sags against the stone railing. The sun is just cresting over the distant mountain range, slowly flooding the valley below with light. Dawn is usually his favorite time, the sky and clouds painted in such vibrant hues, but now he just stares vacantly out over the landscape.</p>
<p>Above him, there's the faint sound of someone scrambling over the roof. Shoe slips against slate, then Duckula hears a thud and rapidly approaching cries of, "<em>Nein, nein, nein!</em>"</p>
<p>Goosewing hits the patio hard behind Duckula and lets out a long groan.</p>
<p>Duckula doesn't bother turning around. He doesn't need to; he can already picture Goosewing leaping to his feet, shaken but undeterred, and brandishing some new vampire-hunting contraption.</p>
<p>"I've got you now, you fiend!" Goosewing declares with his usual enthusiasm.</p>
<p>"Not in the mood, Goosewing," Duckula says dully.</p>
<p>"Ha! Justice won't wait for you to be in the mood to… to be facing… it." Goosewing trails off. An awkward silence stretches out before he asks, "Did- did something happen?"</p>
<p>Duckula turns around to give Goosewing an incredulous look. "Huh?"</p>
<p>Goosewing's feathers fluff in discomfort, and he fiddles with his stake-shooting rifle—his latest invention must have blown up in his face. "It is just… usually you are huffing or rolling your eyes at me when I am threatening you." He scratches the back of his neck, his expression souring a little. "I do not deny it is annoying when you treat me like no more than a nuisance, but today you seem, ah… <em>lebensmüde</em>."</p>
<p>"Gesundheit," Duckula replies on reflex, some part of him hoping he'll at least get a kick out of riling the hunter up.</p>
<p>Sure enough, Goosewing looks ready to kill him again. "Never mind," he spits, but rather than take aim, he slings the rifle over his shoulder. He looks upward, like he's calculating how to get back to his airship.</p>
<p>Duckula doesn't feel any satisfaction. In fact, he feels the opposite. "You're leaving?" he asks, then mentally slaps himself over how plaintive he sounds. He'd thought he wanted to be alone, but now he realizes he just wanted away from Igor and Nanny. He doesn't want to be alone. He wants that life he'd caught a glimpse of on the wall of the portrait gallery. He wants to love and to be loved in turn.</p>
<p>He wants to be alive, not just a shallow mockery of the living.</p>
<p>Goosewing glares at him. "I am not one to be kicking a man when he is down," he says. "Your destruction can wait until tomorrow."</p>
<p>"What'll you do the day after tomorrow, then?" Duckula hears himself ask.</p>
<p>Goosewing is taken aback at this, and it's clear he's never given it much thought. "I. Um." He quickly pulls himself together. "I will get a decent night of sleep, for once."</p>
<p>Duckula looks at the bags that have been under Goosewing's eyes since the very first day they met, and he somehow doubts it. "Don't you have a family you can finally go back to?"</p>
<p>"That is none of your business," Goosewing says, his affront almost as comical as usual. But there's something about the way his posture stiffens, and Duckula knows that, for one reason or another, the answer is no.</p>
<p>It's crushing, the idea that one can be a real person and still not have all the comforts that opportunity should afford—to be living, but still alone. Perhaps he and Goosewing aren't so different, just two lost souls approaching the same problem from opposite directions.</p>
<p>Maybe someday they'll meet in the middle.</p>
<p>Duckula smiles faintly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Goosewing," he says, turning to face the rising sun once more. There's no doubt in his mind that Goosewing will be back. He could set his watch by the hunter, or even the castle clock. Hell, he has more faith in Goosewing's reliability than in the turning of the planet.</p>
<p>"Uh. Yes." There's another moment of silence before footsteps head towards the balcony door. "Tomorrow," Goosewing murmurs, and then he's gone.</p>
<p>Duckula closes his eyes, and listens to the world coming to life.</p>
<hr/>
<p>For a few days, Duckula does his very best to avoid Igor as much as possible. Just looking at his butler starts boiling a deep fury in his gut, and he doesn't entirely know how to handle it. Nanny, surprisingly, doesn't say anything. She just shoots him apprehensive looks whenever he passes her in the halls.</p>
<p>He's grateful for the space she's giving him, because he doesn't think he could handle her usual smothering brand of concern without lashing out at her. It's Igor he's angry with, and he doesn't want Nanny to get caught in the crossfire.</p>
<p>(Goosewing only makes his one promised appearance, and his attempt on Duckula's life is halfhearted. Duckula wonders if their conversation on the balcony had gotten to him.)</p>
<p>On the fourth day, things come to a head when Igor corners Duckula in an east wing hallway. Duckula tries to side-step him, pointedly staring at the space over Igor's shoulder. Igor mirrors the movement, blocking him.</p>
<p>"Milord, you cannot keep sulking," Igor says.</p>
<p>Duckula freezes. "You really think I'm just <em>sulking</em>?"</p>
<p>Igor's face is infuriatingly expressionless. "What else would you have me call it?"</p>
<p>"Don't call it anything." Duckula's voice is brittle. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say." He turns and walks back the way he came. As he reaches for the door at the end of the hall, Igor's hand shoots past the side of his face and holds the door shut. Duckula bites back a surprised yelp—he hadn't even heard Igor following him.</p>
<p>"That's a pity, sir," Igor says drily. "Unfortunately, we do live in the same castle. You'll have to speak to me again eventually."</p>
<p>Duckula keeps his eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden door. He doesn't say anything.</p>
<p>Igor doesn't say anything either, for minutes that drag on like centuries. At last, he begins haltingly, "Do you-"</p>
<p>"Shut up," Duckula says, finally looking at Igor for the first time since they'd returned from the past. He feels so, so cold. "You're always trying to get me to give in to a nature I just don't have. You keep trying, and you don't listen. I already know I'm made wrong. I can feel it written into me, and I don't need you to keep shoving it in my face. Especially not when it's your fault. And- and it's been your fault <em>all along</em>." He's shaking, and his cheeks are wet. He doesn't care. "You know what I don't get? If you're so disappointed with how I turned out, why don't you just kill me and try again next century?"</p>
<p>Igor looks like Duckula might as well have punched him in the gut. "Milord, I would never raise a hand to harm you."</p>
<p>"You'd never raise a hand, no," Duckula retorts, and he yanks the door open.</p>
<p>Igor lets him go.</p>
<p>Duckula makes his way up to the top of the tallest spire, his feet taking him on autopilot. It would have been easier to just teleport, but he can't stomach the thought of using any of his powers right now. By the time he gets there, he's completely winded and all cried out, so he just collapses on the dusty wooden chest by the window. He hasn't been up here since the first time he made an effort at exploring the castle, but there's still something comforting about it.</p>
<p>He stays there long enough that the sky outside begins to darken. Just as the first few stars are coming out, the door creaks open and Igor steps into the room.</p>
<p>Duckula turns his face to the window.</p>
<p>"I thought I might find you here, milord," Igor says softly. "The First came here often." He pauses, then adds, "Before I… well."</p>
<p>This admission, though half of one, is enough to startle Duckula into giving Igor his attention.</p>
<p>"He was a gentle soul," Igor continues. "Had a deep love of the written word, poetry especially. He liked this room for the view of the valley it provided, said it cleared his head and made it easier to write." He rubs his chin. "To be frank, I'm not entirely sure <em>exactly</em> how all the dark magics that reside here work—I'm as much at their mercy as I am their arbiter. But while you are a different person in each incarnation, I see common themes. Similar quirks and habits and… tastes. Until you."</p>
<p>"I know," Duckula mutters. "I'm a mistake."</p>
<p>"No," Igor replies. "You are true."</p>
<p>Duckula's chest constricts. "What?"</p>
<p>"You are the one who is most like the First, as he was meant to be," Igor says, an odd tightness in his words. "But you are singularly unlike him, as well. You are new. You are yourself."</p>
<p>For a moment, Duckula forgets how to breathe. He'd thought he couldn't cry anymore, but finds fresh tears welling up in his eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"</p>
<p>Igor takes a tentative step forward, and seems unsure of what he should be doing with his hands. "Do you-" he starts, again. Duckula had been too angry to hear it in the hallway, but he hears it now.</p>
<p>Vulnerability.</p>
<p>Igor asks, "Do you really think of me as your father?"</p>
<p>Duckula pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "Yeah," he mumbles.</p>
<p>"I," Igor says, and his voice catches. He clears his throat. "I haven't been an especially good one."</p>
<p>Duckula shakes his head.</p>
<p>Igor swallows. "I didn't care much for the First, when he moved into the castle. But I c- You-" He stops, his face twisting like he'd bit into something foul. His throat works a couple of times before he falls back on the safety of the familiar. "My apologies, milord. I am not skilled at expressing… emotions." He says the last word in the same way someone else might say, "It's a dead rat."</p>
<p>The corners of Duckula's beak tug up in a smile, and he pats the space on the chest next to him. "We'll take baby steps," he says.</p>
<p>"Very good, sir," Igor replies, back to being cool and detached. Still, he crosses the room and sits stiffly beside Duckula.</p>
<p>Duckula hesitates, then leans against Igor's side. After a moment, Igor puts an awkward arm over Duckula's shoulders.</p>
<p>It's not quite enough, not yet—maybe not ever. There's a lot of ground left to cover, a lot of time to make up for, and a lot of old habits will die hard.</p>
<p>But it's a start.</p>
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